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TO THE GOLDEN 
GATE AND BACK 




TRAVEL LETTERS 

BY 

LLOYD SMITH 



n 





1 



TO THE GOLDEN 
GATE AND BACK 




TRAVEL LETTERS 

BY 

LLOYD SMITH 



AGITATOR PRESS 
Wellsboro, Pa. 






'The world is so full of a number of things, 
I'm sure we should all be happy as Kings." 
— Stevenson. 



MAY 4 m^ 



THE WONDER OF THE WORLD. 



Mr. Lloyd Smith Writes of the Grand 
Canyon of Arizona. 

Grand Canyon, Arizona, May 9, 
1913. — Shortly after Mrs. Smith and 
I returned from the Pacific coast two 
years ago, I met an acquaintance who 
greeted me by saying, "Well, I read 
your pieces in the paper." 

A good many times the Agitator 
has opened its gracious columns to 
me, and numerous friends have been 
kind enough to say nice things re- 
garding my letters of travel. It Is 
doubtless true that many people, 
whether they themselves have trav- 
eled or mostly "stop at home," enjoy 
. descriptions of faraway scenes, and 
of lands that differ from their own. 
I like to feel that not only my friends 
but also others whom I have never 
met, do me the honor to read what 1 
find pleasure in writing. And so I 
am going to talk to you all again 
through the "paper," and I begin 
with this toast: 
"Here's to those I love, 
And here's to those who love me. 
Here's to those who love those I love. 
And to those who love those who love 
me." 

Leaving Chicago at night in a 
fierce shower of wind and rain, after 
an acrid argument with the taxicab 
driver over the fare — but what's the 
use arguing with a taximeter! — stop- 
ping for a day in Kansas City, the 
second morning revealed the plains 
of western Kansas, where the sandy 
soil — except here and there an irri- 
gated patch — yields no such returns 
to the farmer's toil as the rich black 
loam farther east. Thence into Col- 
orado, and at La Junta (pronounced 
Lay Hunta) the railway divides, a 
branch running north to Denver, 
while the main line heads southwest 



— twelve hundred miles to Los An- 
geles. 

Gradually the landscape changes 
from prairie to foothills, steadily the 
vegetation becomes sparser, until lit- 
tle but dwarf cedars and sage brush 
meet the eye. At Trinidad a "push- 
er" locomotive is attached to the 
train, and we slowly climb to the 
mountain tops, through many a gorge 
and frequent tunnels, pass numerous 
adobe villages housing the Mexicans 
and halfbreeds who work in the coal 
mines. A gentle roaring in the ears 
betokens the altitude we've gained. 
By the middle of the afternoon we 
had dropped down into New Mexico, 
then rode until nightfall over a semi- 
arid plain covered with short grass, 
evidently sufficient, however, to sus- 
tain some scattered herds of cattle. 
Occasionally, too, green fields and cul- 
tivated lands, explained by the ditch 
of water running through. Innum- 
erable gophers, or prairie dogs, up- 
right on their haunches, and blinK- 
ing at the passing train, added a 
touch of interest to an otherwise 
dreary outlook. 

I ate in three states that day, each 
time in one of the famous Harvey 
eating houses, where an abundance 
of the best of everything the mar- 
kets, far and near, can supply. Is 
deftly served by trim young women — 
a welcome change from the deadly 
monotony of the railway dining car, 
where the service, however good, but 
faintly conceals an itching palm. 

The dawn of the third morning 
rose upon the Arizona desert, an un- 
ending stretch of sand, sage brush 
and alkali. But all this desolation 
would be transformed into fertile 
fields if only water could be made to 
flow. Some day irrigation will cause 
this barren watse to "blossom as the 
rose." 

Late that afternoon I arrived at 



the Grand Canyon of Arizona — some- 
times called the Grand Canyon of the 
Colorado river — one of the objective 
points of my present trip. The fore- 
going paragraphs relate mainly to 
such incidents as belong to the con- 
ventional overland journey, but to 
see and to explore the Grand Canyon 
is an event of a lifetime. 

The Grand Canyon can be reached 
only by the Santa Fe railway, and 
while the canyon itself is one of our 
national parks, that corporation con- 
trols it, and operates the various con- 
cessions. A quaint hotel, the El 
Tovar, adjoins the railway station, 
and here the travel stained tourist 
finds comforts to delight his weary 
frame and delicious foods to tempt 
his appetite. The Rendezvous, or 
lounging room, is replete with hos- 
pitable joys — its glowing fireplace an 
invitation to escape the chill night 
air, and rest awhile after the tramps 
and trails of a strenuous day. The 
floor is carpeted with Indian blank- 
ets, the walls hung with antlers and 
skins of wild beasts laid low by the 
hunter's rifle. Nearby stands Bright 
Angel Camp, where good accommo- 
dations may be had at moderate cost. 
Close to the hotel is the Hopi House, 
where every evening natives of that 
Indian tribe dance for the coins of 
the visitors. Others toil at the looms 
or the basket weaving, and under the 
same roof their handiwork is exposed 
for sale. 

I shall not attempt to describe the 
Grand Canyon in all its majesty. To 
paint it in words which would ade- 
quately convey its splendor sublime 
is beyond the powers of finite man. 
One writer has said, "The Grand Can- 
yon is just the Grand Canyon, and 
that is all you can say. I have seen 
people rave over it; better people 
struck dumb by it; even strong men 



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have cried over it; but never yet man 
or woman who expected it." 

Mr. Blmendorf, in his illustrated 
lecture on the Garnd Canyon, tells of 
a native guide who by reason of his 
excessive profanity, was known as 
"Swearing Joe." Profane language 
is by no means uncommon in Arizona 
— quite the contrary — but "Joe," It 
seems, had acquired a lurid vocabu- 
lary which distinguished him among 
his fellows. He had never seen the 
Canyon, until one day he went with 
the Elmendorf party, and while they 
were looking into those awful depths, 
"Joe" joined them. A moment he 
stood speechless, then reverently lift- 
ed his hat, and with a hush in his 
voice exclaimed, "My God!" The In- 
cident but typifies the awe-inspiring 
power of that mighty chasm — it is as 
if one stood, abashed and afraid. In 
the presence of one's Maker. 

An artist brought his young bride 
to the Canyon. He had made other 
pilgrimages here, but this was her 
first. Desiring to observe the effect 
of a sudden view, he led her blind- 
folded to the rim, then removed the 
bandage from her eyes. A long time 
she gazed on that amazing scene, then 
turning to her husband, tears stream- 
ing down her cheeks and choking her 
voice, she cried, "If you ever attempt 
to paint that, I will leave you." 

It will not be difficult now, I fan- 
cy, for my readers to understand how 
presumptuous — I had almost said 
blasplemous — it would be for me to 
undertake to picture the canyon in 
all its splendor. Certain details, 
however, are within my scope, and 
these I will endeavor to set down In 
readable style. 

The can von is a tremendous gash 
cut in a table-land of 100.000 square 
miles. Its length, following the Col- 
orado river, is upwards of two hun- 
dred miles, and the distance from 



rim to rim is thirleen miles. And 
its depth — fancy yourself standing on 
that dizzy brink and gazing down six 
thousand feet. To use the illustra- 
tion of another traveler, "The walls 
of the Canyon are fifty times as high 
as the walls of the gorge at Niagara, 
and if Niagara Falls themselves were 
set at the bottom of the cleft, one 
would need a strong glass to see them 
from the top." 

How came this indescribable cleav- 
age? Doubtless largely by the eros- 
ion of water and the relentless 
ploughing of glacier, although the 
volcano may have played a part, as 
here and there are traces of lava, 
and I observed that some layers of 
rock stood nearly vertical, others 
slantingly, but for the most part they 
lay horizontal. The strange shapes 
which so excite the wonder of the on- 
looker must be ascribed to erosion. 
Many of these bear resemblance to 
the temples built to heathen dietles 
of ancient lands, and have been nam- 
ed Brahma, Zoroaster, Confucius, 
Osiris, and so on. Another might 
have been the model for a modern 
battleship, and one huge mass shows 
the outlines of a monstrous alligat- 
or. 

Excellent facilities have been pro- 
vided for seeing the Canyon to the 
best advantage, so that tourists may 
lose no time, and may accomplish 
their sight-seeing with a minimum of 
discomfort. There are various trails 
down and up and through the can- 
yon, and the Santa Fe railway com- 
pany has constructed a macadam 
highway along the rim, called the 
Hermit Rim road. From this leads 
the Hermit Trail, which doubtless 
will in time be most largely followed. 
But the popular route is the Bright 
Angel Trail — seven miles from the 
hotel to the Colorado river, and back 
again. This is the one I chose. 



Mounted on mules — horses are sel- 
dom used because of the steepness of 
the descent, the necessary straining 
proving injurious to feet and knees 
— our party set forth early in the 
day, returning at five in the after- 
noon. For more than an hour we fol- 
lowed a zigzag course down the can- 
yon-side, marveling at the ever chang- 
ing vistas, and pausing now and then 
to gather courage to round a cliff 
whose narrow pathway overhung a 
precipice whose foot was hundreds 
of feet below. A touch of beauty 
now and again drew our attention 
from the massive walls of brown 
granite and chocolate colored sand- 
stone which towered above us, as we 
caught sight of the scarlet pedals of 
the dwarf cactus blossoms peering 
forth among the boulders, or the wild 
sweet peas flaunting their purple and 
white alongside the sombre tinted 
sage brush or at the foot of a drab 
old juniper tree. 

At the Half Way house we paused, 
to limber up our stiffening knees, and 
take long draughts from the spring 
which gushed from the mountain- 
side. Then to our saddles again, rid- 
ing awhile along a less precipitous 
pathway, coming in time to the Dev- 
il's Corkscrew, where the descent was 
so steep and the trail so stony, our 
guides forbade the risk, and com- 
manded us to follow the mules on 
foot. This devious way was soon left 
behind, then we rode without inter- 
ruption until high noon, when we 
halted on the sandy shore of the Col- 
orado river. Here that turbid stream, 
a hundred feet wide and forty feet 
deep, rushed swiftly by, conflrming 
the tales of daring explorers who had 
risked their lives in a brave effort to 
steer their boats through those per- 
ilous rapids. 

Now our lunch boxes were unpack- 
ed, and in the shadow of a mighty 



rock we satisfied the appetites sharp- 
ened by the rigors of the trail. The 
return trip was made without undue 
incident, but required more time 
than the downward jaunt, since the 
mules must needs be given an occas- 
ional chance to rest and gather fresn 
breath. 

I had an excellent mount — "Car- 
rots" was her name, but she didn't 
seem to mind that. Sometimes 1 
thought she ventured a little nearer 
the edge of the narrow path than ne- 
cessity required, but she brought me 
safe to the journey's end, so won my 
admiration and respect. The effic- 
iency and endurance of these unlove- 
ly beasts are little short of mai'vel- 
ous. Patient and surefooted, they 
know every step of the trail, and need 
no guidance from the rider's hand. 
In fact, it is the part of wisdom not 
to interfere — the mule knows better 
than the driver the safe course to pur- 
sue. Aj the Half Way House I met 
Captain Hance, an oldtime guide and 
explorer of the canyon. He has 
spent twenty years in these environs 
and probably knows them more inti- 
mately than any other living man. 
Some years ago he conducted Mr. El- 
mendorf down the trail. The lectur- 
er was manifestly timid, and kept 
pulling the mule's head away from 
the edge. Finally "Cap" Hance could 
stand this no longer, and he blurted 
out, "You d — d tenderfoot, let that 
mule alone!" 

It took two hours of steady climb- 
ing to cover the last quarter of the 
trail, and when at last we had risen 
above the topmost incline, we were a 
tired but happy party, conscious of 
an achievement which we would not 
have missed, and proud and theknowl- 
edge we had gained of one of the sub- 
limist wonders of the world. I bade 
"Carrots" an affectionate farewell, 
hoping we might some day meet 



8 

again. However, since that ride I 
have acquired a fondness for soft 
cushions, and I am reminded of the 
man who, when asked how he felt aft- 
er his first horseback ride, replied, 
"Well, I'm better off." 

My most vivid impression of the 
canyon, and the one which will en- 
dure throughout all my days, was re- 
ceived when I stood at the close of 
day close by the rim at Hopi Point, 
and watched the rays of the setting 
sun soften the rugged outlines of this 
Titan of Chasms. When I alighted 
from the carriage the sun was yet a 
little way above the horizon. Cliff 
and tower, temple and amphitheater, 
gorge and trail were aglow with rad- 
iance; the Colorado river, a mile be- 
neath my feet, seemed a silver thread. 
Beyond the farther rim the desert 
stretched its pathless, desolate way. 
Then as I looked, the ruler of the day 
sank from sight behind the faraway 
mountain. Still the eastern walls of 
the canyon glowed with the reflection 
of the flood of light into which the 
sun had fallen. But the spirit of 
change was descending upon the west- 
ern steeps. First, a blue haze over- 
hung the chasm, then dark and for- 
bidding shadows came forth and 
wrapped those mighty upstanding 
walls in darkness. Steadily the rud- 
dy tints of the cliffs to the eastward 
yielded to those conquering shadows, 
slowly night's curtain fell. And up 
among the glittering stars the new- 
born moon, "a silver sickle gleaming 
far," shed a soft and gentle radiance 
over that sleeping scene. Reluct- 
antly I unclasped the spell which had 
bound me to that weird spot, and 
turned away. Surely, no other such 
grandeur as this — nowhere on God's 
foodstool do earth and heaven seem 
to so nearly meet. 

LLOYD SMITH. 



UPS AND DOWNS IN CAUFOENIA. 



Mr. Smith's Word Picture of Sunset 
Land and Her People. 

Los Angeles, May 20.— One bright 
sunshiny day in January, 1911, Mrs. 
Smith and 1 first saw this promised 
land. We had left the plains of Tex- 
as, the desolate, sand-blown stretch<^s 
of Arizona, and when the sun rose up- 
on the last lap of our westward jour- 
ney, it saw us climbing the slopes of 
the southern spurs of the Sierras. In 
a few hours the summit was gained, 
and our iron steed sped away to the 
beckoning foothills. Soon the hab- 
itations of man began to appear, and 
as we hastened along, orchards of ap- 
ricot, of walnut and olive flanked 
many a bungalow in which peace and 
plenty seemed to dwell. Still our 
eager eyes looked for something 
more, and when the train rounded a 
hill which overhung the valley our 
dream of years had come true — for 
there, far as the sight could reach, 
lay the matchless gold and green of 
the orange groves. Then indeed was 
the weariness of the desert lifted, 
while v/e drank in the beauty of the 
scene, and filled our lungs with the 
air which was soft with sunlight and 
fragrant with bloom. With never a 
murmur, we yielded to the spell of 
this bewitching southland, and ban- 
ished our doubts of the truth of the 
tales other travelers had told. 

So, a week ago, with these cluster- 
ing memories to soothe the hardships 
of travel, I once more rode into Sun- 
set Land, and awaited the vision of 
a never forgotten day. Again the 
steed of steel raced madly down the 
mountain-side, again I saw the hardy 
orchards of the uplands, one by one 
the intervening hills were left be- 
hind, and at last I looked again into 
the valley down below. But alas! 



10 

an evil day had fallen upon this fair 
land and robbed it of the charm of 
other days. The groves w^ere there, 
but instead of their former sheen, 
sickly foliage and deadened limbs. 
No golden globes hung from those 
branches, but the ground lay thick 
with rotting fruit to tell the tale of 
w^intry winds and freezing nights. 

Probably never in its history has 
southern California received so se- 
vere a jolt to its prosperity as now. 
The winter of 1912 was rather worse 
than usual, and the citrus fruit crop 
therefore less profitable than in pre- 
ceding years. But the growers re- 
newed their courage, hoping for a 
bumper yield in 1913, only to see 
their oranges frozen, their thrifty 
trees seriously damaged, and many of 
the young orchards completely ruin- 
ed. In the Riverside-Redlands dis- 
trict are some of the best groves in 
California, yielding in good years a 
net income of $200 to $300 an acre. 
From the car window I saw hundreds 
of trees bare of fruit, their topmost 
branches leafless and dead. 

The estimated value of the Cali- 
fornia citrus crop, under favorable 
conditions, is twenty-five millions of 
dollars annually. I am told that 
probably not ten per cent, of that 
amount will be realized this year. 
An acquaintance says he knows men 
who own orange groves easily worth 
$1.50,000, but who are now borrow- 
ing money from the banks to buy 
bread and butter with. These can 
doubtless "weather the gale," but the 
owner of a few acres planted to or- 
anges alone forces an outlook far 
from encouraging. 

The past winter here was not what 
we in the east would call "hard." 
The mercury ranged 'on the coldest 
nights from 12 degrees to 18 degrees 
above zero. But this is a semi-trop- 
ical country seldom visited by frosts, 



11 

and even when these do come, the 
citrus trees are protected by "smudge 
pots" — sheet iron contraptions burn- 
ing crude oil. But even these failed 
to save the crop when the January 
"northers" swept down from the 
mountains. 

"It never rains but it pours," is an 
old saying quoted often. It fits here 
in southern California, although 
"rain" is a misnomer. The freeze 
last winter so discouraged the fruit 
growers that many of them decided 
to raise alfalfa and the grains in- 
stead. But these need abundant 
moisture early in the season, and the 
winter rains have for years made dry 
farming (as opposed to irrigation) 
fairly profitable, This year the rain- 
fall has been far below normal, with 
the result that the fields are dry, the 
grain and hay crop scant. The loss 
of the citrus crop alone is beyond 
measure, and now comes the drouth 
TO lay its weight of disaster upon al- 
ready burdened shoulders. 

But "hope springs eternal in the 
human breast." Stricken though 
this section has been, its people have 
not lost courage; on the contrary, 
they have set to work with unflag- 
ging zeal to recoup themselves for 
the damage done. Dead branches of 
the orange trees are being clipped 
and burned, and the deciduous fruits 
are becoming more generally culti- 
vated. Irrigating plants are under- 
going improvements, to meet the ev- 
ergrowing demand for water, which is 
the life of the land. Building goes 
on with steady pace, new and better 
roads help to hasten the day when, 
as Californians believe, the count will 
show a greater number of automo- 
biles than in any other state of the 
Union. So hope is in the air, and 
faith calmly awaits the hour when 
unkind fate shall have ended its 



12 

sway, and beauty and bounty once 
mor« reign supreme. 

So much for the discouragements 
which the people of southern Califor- 
nia have met since the day, a little 
more than two years ago, when it 
seemed to me that here was an earth- 
ly paradise, a land where worldly 
contentment had chosen its "dwel- 
ling place throughout all genera- 
tions." And I do not now want to 
convey any impression of disparage- 
ment or disillusion. I still believe 
in this land of bloom — even in the 
midst of the drouth I have seen banks 
and pillars of roses which would fill 
with unspeakable delight the souls of 
some of my feminine friends back 
home who I know love flowers with 
"love that surpasseth knowledge." 
The soil is here, water is here or 
will be, and sunshine. With these 
to command, no people can suffer 
long — Mother Earth "will not always 
chide." 

Except for the drouth, the weather 
is delightful. Sunshiny days — not 
too warm — and nights just cool en- 
ough to suggest light wraps in the 
evening, and a woolen blanket at bed- 
time. Not a drop of rain have I seen 
since leaving Chicago, more than two 
weeks ago. Had enough there to 
satisfy me for a long time. 

Los Angeles continues to grow and 
grow, and grow some more. I don't 
know what its population is to-day, 
and I'm not going to ask any Angel- 
eno. He probably would say it's 
somewhere between 300,000 and 
400,000, and is sure to be a million 
by 1920. The dauntless optimism of 
the Angel enos is an object of wonder, 
and beautiful to behold. They have 
got plenty to brag about, however, 
and as I like Los Angeles the best of 
all the cities on the Pacific slope, I 
have no wish to question the verac- 
ity of it's boosters. 



13 

But after all Is said in praise of 
southern California's climate, if I 
could choose my time, it would be in 
winter that I would seek its charm. 
The past winter was an exception — 
mild in the east, severe in the west. 
But taken as the years go, winter in 
the north brings storms that paraljze, 
and cold that bites and deadens. And 
by the same avei'age, winter in this 
latitude is mild, the sunlight has 
"healing in its wings," and the grovfs 
are laden with fruits that are sought 
after to the ends of the earth. In 
summertime, though, I have yet to 
find a climate more enjoyable than 
that which sweetens the green clad 
hills and peaceful valleys of the Al- 
leghenies. 

At Riverside I found the Wellsboro 
colony numbering practically the 
same as two years ago — J. A. Beach, 
S. B. Wllkins, E. A. Ingerick and 
their respective families. Here also 
I met our genial friend, Frank Mar- 
vin, just wayfaring, and enjoying it 
immensely. He brought some Tioga 
county money out here with him — 
to spend, but (so far as I know) not 
to invest. 

Rev. N. L. Reynolds still yields to 
none in his love for this beautiful 
country. He lives back by the foot- 
hills in a house built by his daugh- 
ter. Dr. Myra Reynolds, of Chicago 
Thiiversity, and she also, I am in- 
formed, will make this her home upon 
the completion (in 1917) of twenty- 
five years of service in that institu- 
tion. The "Elder" (everyone here- 
abouts affectionately dubs him 
"Grandpa") showed me about the 
new house, which is to be his home 
for the rest of his days. It is built 
against the hillside, therefore has 
three stories in front, and two in the 
rear. He said, as we stood looking 
out across the valley and on to the 
sublime peaks of the San Jocinto 



14 

mountains, "I don't know which to 
do — to have my room in the lower 
story where it's cool in summer and 
warm in winter, but where the out- 
look is limited, or on the third floor, 
where it will be hot in summer and 
cold in winter, but where I can have 
at will that glorious view." 

Although almost eighty-six years 
old, the "Elder" is still active, and 
works steadily in his lemon grove, 
which escaped the past winter's 
freeze. In leaving, I asked if he had 
any message for Wellsboro, and with 
tears in his eyes he said he wished he 
might shake hands once more with 
the friends he knew so long and loved 
so well. Then, with the oldtime 
twinkle in his eye, he said he read 
every word in the Agitator, even to 
the names of those who brought milk 
to the condensery. 

LLOYD SMITH. 



WELLSBORO MAN IN CALIFORNIA 



Very Interesting Letter by Mr. Lloyd 
Smith. 

San Francisco, May 31. — "Califor- 
nia Invites the World in 1915." This 
is the watchword strung in giant 
letters across the length of the great 
ferry house which is the gateway to 
the metropolis of the Golden West. 
The overland traveler, crossing the 
bay from Oakland, where his train 
halts, cannot escape this cordial in- 
vitation. And when he has entered 
into the busy life of the city, he will 
hear "1915" drop from every lip. 
The Panama-Pacific Exposition is un- 
der way, and surely the sons and 
daughters of men, even to the ends of 
the earth, must come to see. 

I doubt if ever any city were so 
overshadowed by a coming event as is 
San Francisco over the spectacle 
which will be offered here two years 
from now. And rightly so, for the 
Exposition will not only commemor- 
ate the opening of the Panama Canal 
— the crowning achievement of this 
lusty nation; it will widen and deep- 
en the wealth-bringing channels of 
trade to western shores; and it will 
give to California the glory of celebra- 
tion. No wonder the Golden State 
feels its broad bosom swell with pride 
as it foresees the long processions of 
visitors to its wide-flung gates. 

Just a few statistics. The Expo- 
sition will be a $50,000,000 proposi- 
tion. Its foundation was laid in the 
pledge of an original fund of $17,- 
500,000 by the people of San Francis- 
co and California. The grounds of 
the Exposition adjoin the Preside, the 
military reservation, close by Golden 
Gate Park, against whose front the 
white-capped breakers of the Pacific 
dash themselves evermore. The site 
chosen for the Exposition comprises 



16 

a tract of approximately six hundred 
acres. Of this wide range fifty acres 
will be devoted to horticultural dis- 
play, twelve acres to railroads and 
miscellaneous exhibits, fifty acres for 
a military drill and aviation field, ten 
acres to the U. S. government exhibit, 
forty acres to state buildings, about 
the same area to foreign buildings, 
twenty-five acres to live stock, and 
sixty-five acres to amusement conces- 
sions. Already more than six thous- 
and applications have been made to 
install amusement features on the 
midway. 

The Exhibit Palaces, fourteen in 
all, will be devoted to the fine and 
liberal arts, manufactures, education, 
agriculture, automobiles, and every 
other industry or useful activity in 
the whole world. The Festive Court, 
built in Oriental style, will be dedi- 
cated to music, pageantry and the 
drama. The Court of Honor will sur- 
round a sunken garden flanked by 
fountains and statuary and rich trop- 
ical verdure, while over its entrance 
will rise the Tower of Jewels, flash- 
ing its radiance even to the peaks of 
the Sierras, and far out beyond the 
portals of Golden Gate. 

I walked through the Exposition 
grounds yesterday. Everywhere are 
the tokens of a giant enterprise, al- 
ready the splendid conceptions of the 
master minds of the builders are tak- 
ing shape. Here the massive machin- 
ery building is rearing its frame — a 
thousand feet long, one hundred and 
thirty feet high. The ground where- 
on it stands, like much of the Expo- 
sition site, was formerly tidewater 
land, so long piles must be driven for 
the buildings to rest upon. 

I hold no fee for the Panama Ex- 
position, neither have any of its of- 
ficials requested me to exploit its un- 
doubted attractions, but I do not hes- 
itate to urge all who can to come 



17 

here in 1915. The Exposition itself 
will doubtless surpass all its prede- 
cessors in scope, in variety and in 
beauty. Placed between the Presidio 
and the Bay, it will afford a setting 
for military and naval pageantry such 
as could be found nowhere else on 
the continent. Add to this environ- 
ment the luxuriant foliage and bril- 
liant blossoms of a semi-tropical land 
and a picture will be made which all 
eyes will delight to behold. Not on- 
Iv will the Exposition be worth com- 
ing to see — other sights will appeal 
to those who enjoy the unique, the 
typical things. Two of these are 
close at hand, and can be visited in 
a day — Mount Tamalpais and Muir 
VVootis.The former overtops the bay, 
its summit is reached by "the crook- 
edest railway in the world," and here 
you may look out upon a panorama of 
city and plain, snow-capped moun- 
tains and white crested waters that 
will leave its impress on your mem- 
ory for all time. Muir Woods is a 
natural reservation of towering red- 
woods, unscathed by the woodsman's 
axe, and forever safe from the on- 
slaught of the timber kings. Last 
Sunday afternoon I walked among 
these monarchs of the woodland, and 
forgot the cares of the workaday 
world in the serene presence of the 
"forest primeval." 

One hears much out here of the 
anti-alien land law, enacted at the 
recent session of the legislature and 
approved by Governor Hiram John- 
son, despite the protest from the na- 
tional administration offered in per- 
son by Secretary of State William J. 
Bryan. Many Californians are much 
wrought up over what they term the 
"Asiatic invasion." They claim to 
foresee the day when the Orientals 
will possess the land unless restrict- 
ed. The law is aimed particularly at 



18 

the Japanese, although of course it 
hits other aliens as well. 

Doubtless there is some ground for 
this determination to prevent the 
Japanese from becoming land owners 
in California. It is said that wher- 
ever they have bought city property 
real estate values in that neighbor- 
hood immediately are depressed, be- 
cause white people will not live along- 
side the Japs. So they move out, and 
the Orientals take advantage of the 
opportunity to buy more property. 
The fields are cultivated and the 
crops are gathered by aliens. White 
workingmen will not work in their 
company. In many parts of the state 
Japanese and Chinese have bought up 
farming lands, and till them with 
handsome profit. The strawberry 
crop is practically controlled by the 
Japs, and one wealthy Chinaman is 
known as the "potato king." Other 
products of the soil, particularly veg- 
etables, are largely grown and mar- 
keted by these foreigners, and the 
Californians fear that unless this in- 
dustrial march is soon halted, it will 
not be many years before the aliens 
will have disposed the Anglo-Saxons 
of their birthright. This was said 
to me by Mr. G. W. Langan, an Oak- 
land attorney, who formerly lived in 
Wellsboro, and studied law, as I re- 
call, in the office of Hon. William A. 
Stone: "The Pacific coast states have 
a population of two and a half mil- 
lions. China and Japan could easily 
spare twenty-five millions of their 
teeming hordes; if California's gates 
remain open to them, and California's 
soil is permitted to pass into their 
hands, what is to become of our own 
sons and daughters whose right it is 
to fall heir to this western empire! 
The Asiatic invasion is a menace to 
our prosperity, robbing our young 
men of opportunity, and paving the 
way for their exodus into communi- 



19 

ties where they will not be forced to 
compete against degraded labor. Al- 
ready much harm has been done in 
this respect — our youths will not 
work with Japs, Chinamen or Hin- 
doos, so many of them are idle, and 
are contracting habits which Idleness 
ever begets. This," concluded Mr. 
Langan, "is the Californian point of 
view, and you easterners would with- 
hold your criticism of our anti-alien 
land law if you understood the situ- 
ation properly." 

So there you have in brief the ar- 
gument of doubtless the majority of 
Californians favoring the recent leg- 
islation which has aroused so much 
comment throughout the country, 
and apparently strained relations be- 
tween this nation and Japan. Not 
all Californians, however, endorse the 
anti-alien crusade, for one hears oc- 
casional dissenting voices, and it is 
possible the referendum will be in- 
voked to determine whether the law 
shall become operative or not. To 
the disinterested outsider this ques- 
tion arises: What would California 
do without Asiatic laborers? As al- 
ready stated, they till the soil, they 
harvest the crops, in many instances 
they also market the product. They 
do the housework, cook and serve the 
meals, and are the most efficient men- 
servants in the world, although it Is 
true that they show a tendency to 
become arrogant and "uppish." I 
heard of an instance where a lady 
was taking her Japanese house ser- 
vant to task for something or other, 
when he replied, "You no like what 
I do, then I go away." One might 
remark in passing that the Japs "are 
not alone in that." 

Whether the Orientals, if prohib- 
ited from becoming land owners, will 
be content to remain here merely as 
laborers, or will gradually migrate 
to countries where they may hold 



20 

what they acquire, it is impossible 
to foretell. It is probable, though, 
that much of the labor of this west- 
ern coast will always be performed by 
Asiatic hands. In one of my news- 
paper letters two years ago I remark- 
ed upon the tendency of the west to 
multiply laws, and to try new exper- 
iments in legislation. The legal grist 
is still large, and Governor Johnson 
is spending these hot days in Sacra- 
mento scanning the hundreds of bills 
left to him as a legacy from the re- 
cent session. And yet I read in a 
leading San Francisco daily, "Califor- 
nia is the worst governed state in 
the Union." I am assured, however, 
by those who are doubtless competent 
to judge, that such is not the case. 

One of the bills passed by the leg- 
islature, and now awaiting the sig- 
nature of the Governor, will require 
every man contemplating matrimony 
in California to advertise his forth- 
coming marriage in the public prints, 
and to provide himself with a health 
certificate. This is going in for eu- 
genics with a vengeance. What will 
become of the Romeos, and what will 
be the use of a fair maid consenting 
to an elopement, then descending a 
ladder on a dark night while father 
and mother are snoring peacefully in 
their beds? 

There is much rivalry and some 
bitterness between Los Angeles and 
San Francisco, and this is shared to 
some extent by the population of 
southern and northern California, re- 
spectively. The people of the south 
would favor the division of the state 
into two states. Acting upon this 
sentiment, one of the senators from 
the northern section introduced a 
freak bill during the late session pro- 
viding that the state be cut in two, 
the part north of the Tehachipi moun- 
tain to be known as California, and 
the southern portion named Cafeteria. 



21 

Tlip joke was on Los Angeles, when^ 
the serve-yourself eating house is, so 
to speak, Indigenous to the soil. 

At Lodi I found Leon Channell. 
His numerous Tio^a county friends 
will be glad to know that he has al- 
ready gained a substantial foothold 
in this wide awake and prosperous 
town, and is "making good." He has 
preat faith in the future of northern 
San Joaquin county, round about 
Lodi, and judging from the thrifty 
orchards of prune, peach, almond and 
olive, the acres upon acres of flour- 
ishing vineyards, the crops of alfalfa 
and the facilities for irrigation which 
we saw in our twenty-mile automo- 
bile ride, he has good reason to build 
his hopes high. 

Now I am leaving San Francisco — 
with something of regret, although I 
would not unduly prolong my jour- 
ney. This great city seems to typi- 
fy more than any other the energy, 
the courage, the efficiency of the 
west. No obstacles are too big, no 
difficulties too hopeless. With stead- 
fast purpose it moves steadily on, con- 
fident of its inherent strength, and 
sure of its high destiny. Come stand 
with me on Fairmount hill, and look 
down upon Market street and all the 
intersecting streets which pour their 
flood of life and activity into it. See 
the tall marts of trade, the granite 
structures where the masters of fi- 
nance hold sway. What are all these 
but monuments of zeal! And that 
steady roar which comes up from be- 
low — it is the throbbing of the pulses 
of industry. Look and listen awhile, 
then recall that seven short years 
ago the fire fiend, following close up- 
on the trail of the earthquake, turn- 
ed the labors of years into smoking 
ruins. From where we stand, to the 
water's edge, scarce a building with- 
stood the flames. Can it be that out 
of those ashes has risen this fair 



22 

Phoenix of the twentieth century! 
We can but believe the evidence of 
our eyes, nor can we refuse homage 
to the men of the west who with grim 
determination in their souls said to 
themselves, "We will build San Fran- 
cisco anew!" 

Now come with me, when night has 
fallen, into one of the cafes where 
dull care never enters, where wit 
sparkles like the wine which wakens 
it, and where laughter and song make 
the echoes ring. Seated at some of 
the tables are those same San Fran- 
ciscans whose belongings were swept 
into oblivion in 1906. Undaunted by 
misfortune, they set to work to make 
themselves a place in the newborn 
town. This they have done, but they 
have forgotten the straits of other 
days, so they come where good cheer 
awaits, and as they lift their glasses 
this is their cry, "Here's to 1915!" 
LLOYD SMITH. 



GOLDEN GATE TO PUGET SOUND. 

Mr. Lloyd Smith Sees Flower Festi- 
val and Many Other Things. 

Seattle, June 10, 1913. — From San 
Francisco to Portland is seven hun- 
dred miles. To the best of my knowl- 
edge and belief, the distance from 
Portland to San Francisco is the 
same. Anyway, it's a long and tire- 
some ride — two nights and a day. 
You awaken the first morning in a 
region of northern California through 
which the Sacramento river swiftly 
flows; before long the gray cliffs of 
Castle Crags tower above the canyon, 
and towards noon the train stops to 
permit the passengers to have a drink 
from Shasta Springs. One draught 
will satisfy most of them, for iron 
and magnesia do not tempt the taste. 
But none can resist the beauty of the 
scene. To the right of us, to the left 
of us, and far up the hillside above 
us, those sparkling waters gush forth 
and hasten away to chant their mer- 
ry song to the whispering redwoods. 

"When shall we see Mt. Shasta?" 
is now the query on every lip, as the 
train winds and climbs onward and 
upward. Then all of a sudden Shasta 
stands before us, a silent sentinel, 
clad in everlasting snow, its forbid- 
ding peaks reaching far above the 
cloud line. From then until near 
nightfall that majestic mountain 
dominates the landscape, compelling 
the admiration of all who look upon 
it. 

Aside from the scenery, I found the 
Shasta route rather uninteresting, 
for lack of companionship The on- 
ly people in the Pullman whom I 
thought I would like to talk with 
were a bride and groom, and they 
didn't know there was anyone else 
within a thousand miles of them. I 
could see him telling her that he 



24 

would love her "till the sands of the 
desert grow cold" — and she believed 
him. When Mrs. Smith and I rode 
the Shasta route two years ago, we 
fell in with some congenial people 
who helped us to while away the 
hours, and pointed out the interest- 
ing things along the way. But I 
wasn't so fortunate the other day — 
the reason doubtless is obvious. 

The second morning brought me to 
Portland, busy but not boastful — in 
some respects the most prosperous 
city on the western coast. Oregon 
has vast resources of fertile soil, tow- 
ering forests and mineral wealth, and 
Portland takes toll of all of these. 
Prom the heights of the city Columbia 
river may be seen sweeping to the 
sea, and the nets of the salmon fish- 
eries provide another source of rev- 
enue. And although the city lies 
some distance from the oceanside, the 
Willammette river flows by, empty- 
ing into the Columbia, thus affording 
a waterway sufficient to Portland's 
shipping needs. 

It was my good fortune to be in 
Portland a night and a day while the 
famous Rose Festival was going on. 
This is an annual event in the "Rose 
City," early in June, and it attracts 
thousands of visitors. Other cities, 
as Pasadena and Oakland, which al- 
so hold flower carnivals, send dele- 
gations, and an entire week is large- 
ly given over to festivities and dis- 
play in honor of the flower which 
has become synonymous with Port- 
land. At high noon on Monday Rex 
Oregonus, King of the Carnival, ar- 
rives on his royal barge and is met 
at the wharf by a committee compos- 
ed of the leading citizens. He and 
his suite are conducted to City Hall, 
and here the keys of the city are 
turned over to him by the Mayor. 
Thereupon Rex Oregonus issues his 
kingly decree, proclaiming the bene- 



25 

ficient Kingdom of the Rose, and di- 
recting all his subjects to cease from 
labor throughout the six days in 
which his reign shall endure. This 
command is not, of course, literally 
obeyed, but the spirit of carnival is 
abroad, and the streets of the city 
swarm with eager seekers of the joys 
which spring from an occasion like 
this. 

And the rose is supreme. No mat- 
ter where you go, roses everywhere — 
on the lapels of men's coats, in the 
hands and arms of women and chil- 
dren, in the windows of shops and 
homes, on the tables in the cafes, in 
the rooms of the guests at the hotels 
— roses, "rich and rare," filling the 
world with their beauty, and sweet- 
ening the air with their fragrance. 
If you ride among the residences, you 
will see hedge after hedge of roses, 
tended with loving care, and reward- 
ing that care by flaunting their best 
to those who love them. 

The exhibit of the Portland Rose 
Society was displayed in the city ar- 
mory, and here the competition for 
prizes took place. As I entered the 
building my nostrils were greeted 
with a wave of perfume, and my eyes 
fell upon a sight I had never dreamed 
of. Aisles of roses, banks of roses, 
great vases overflowing with roses, 
climbing roses — scarlet roses, white 
roses, and roses of blended hues — 
bride roses, baby roses, big and broad 
roses (the first prize winner of the 
Frau Karl Druschki variety measur- 
ed fully seven inches across) — Amer- 
ican Beauty, La France, Jacqueminot, 
Marechal Neil, Killarney, Yellow 
Rambler, Crested Moss, and many 
others whose names were foreign to 
my horticultural vocabulary. Surely, 
if ever there was a bower of roses, 
that was one. 

Throughout the week are various 
events, all celebrating the reign of 



26 

the rose. These include a motorcycle 
parade, an automobile parade, "The 
Human Rosebud Parade," a horse and 
carriage parade, the Grand Rex Ball 
given under the auspices of the Royal 
Rosarians of Portland, the Battle of 
Roses, the Rose shower, and the elec- 
tric pageant. My time permitted me 
to see only the last named. It con- 
sisted of eighteen floats, each por- 
traying one flower and one precious 
stone belonging to Oregon, as rose 
and sapphire; ruby and morning 
glory; amethyst and geraniums; pop- 
py and agate; poinsetta and blood- 
stone, and so on. The floats were 
mounted on street car trucks, with 
trolley pole attached, so were pro- 
pelled by electric current through 
the principal streets. The parade 
began about nine o'clock in the even- 
ing, and lasted upwards of an hour. 

I wish I could describe that glit- 
tering scene, but it is beyond my 
descriptive reach. Brilliant with 
electric lights of all the colors of the 
rainbow, hung with festoons of flow- 
ers, every detail of every blossom and 
every jewel wrought out, those floats 
seemed to have come from fairyland. 
The dainty tints of the rose, the scar- 
let of the geranium, the garish yellow 
and shining black of the tiger lily, 
the irridescence of the opal, the blood 
red of the ruby — all these, and many 
more, dazzled the eyes of the spec- 
tators, banked deep at the curb, while 
they marveled upon that amazing 
view. Portland had been scoured to 
find its most beautiful young women, 
and these held the posts of honor in 
the midst of the slowly moving cara- 
van, illuminating it with their beau- 
ty. I could almost testify that some 
of the men who stood near me — most- 
ly middle-aged men, too, and away 
from home — looked at those pretty 
girls more than at the flowers. While 
the floats were passing through one 



27 

of the streets an incident occurred 
which hadn't been foreseen. Fire 
broke out in a large store, and while 
the firemen were playing the hose, 
considerable water fell on the floats, 
drenching the young women. They 
were thinly clad in draperies befitting 
the occasion, but they were game, ac- 
cepting their involuntary shower 
bath without eomplaint, and sticking 
to their stations until the parade was 
over. 

The next step north lands the trav- 
eler on the banks of Puget Sound, 
and he enters the hospitable gates of 
Tacoma, whose lengthwise streets rise 
in a terrace from the water's edge. 
Here one may look out upon a pan- 
orama of great scope. The Tacomans 
are a contented people. They don't 
dream of world conquest, nor do they 
believe that their city will some day 
be the Chicago of the west. But they 
have an abiding faith in their des- 
tiny and pay little heed to the boast- 
ful claims of their neighbors. One 
thing they have, though, which no 
one can despoil them of, and of which 
no other city can show a counter- 
part, and that is their mountain — 
Mt. Tacoma it is to them, although 
more generally known as Mt. Rain- 
ier. Seldom obscured from their 
sight, it rears its summit fifteen 
thousand feet towards heaven, as 
though it would be their guardian 
forever more. The Indians used to 
worship this mountain, calling it "the 
mountain that was God." 

Seattle is different. It has many 
lights, and so far as I can discover, 
none is hid under a bushel. Its peo- 
ple have accomplished deeds which 
might well stagger the imagination 
of other communities, but lest you 
forget, it's the business of every in- 
habitant here to remind you. Let 
me quote a rather one-sided conver- 
sation recently heard on the street. 



28 

Said one: "A man with one eye ought 
to see that you couldn't hold Seattle 
down with Mount Rainier on top of 
it; in fact I think Seattle pushed the 
mountain over where it is now. Na- 
ture just naturally sat up night's to 
make a finished piece of work out of 
the state of Washington, and when it 
was done they drove Seattle's stakes 
in the portion where the wild flowers 
were thickest. 

"But, when the world really learns 
about Seattle they'll be selling tick- 
ets for the privilege of living here. 
My! My! When I think of all the 
people living somewhere else my 
heart just bleeds for 'em. Here are 
we, crowning more hills than Rome, 
lining the shore of a great arm of the 
ocean, with the tides pouring in and 
out billions of tons of water every 
day, scouring our channed for the 
biggest ships of the world to come 
and do business with us. In our 
back yards we have coal, millions of 
tons, and in the front yard fish, tril- 
lions of them, and clams for those 
who like 'em, and all around us is 
the biggest stand of timber in the 
world. 

"While we're looking around to 
see if there's anything we haven't 
got, here comes along Alaska and 
pours $200,000,000 in gold in our 
lap. 

"Why, boy, we've got the highest 
birth rate, the lowest death rate, the 
purest water, the finest fruit, the 
best lighted streets, the cheapest pow- 
er, the biggest trees, the biggest 
banks, the biggest shipbuilders, the 
biggest flour mills, the " 

"And the biggest liars," interrupt- 
ed his listener. 

However, Seattle has much to be 
proud of. No other American city I 
have seen possesses such scenic 
wealth. Crowning the hills which 
overhang not only Puget Sound, but 



29 

various beautiful lakes as well, it 
looks out upon Olympics and Cas- 
cades, and in clear weather Mt. Rain- 
ler's towering summit and glistening 
slopes are easily seen. As an adjunct 
to the scenic treasures Dame Nature 
has supplied, Seattle's homes are em- 
bellished by the flowers and foliage 
which thrive so well in this climate. 
Certain private grounds I have seen 
here are indeed charming examples of 
what may be done in the realm of 
landscape art. 

To my mind, the biggest thing Se- 
attle has done is its conquest of the 
hills which stood in the way of its 
growth. It is doubtful if the pion- 
eers ever dreamed how great Seattle 
would become, and probably the nar- 
row strip along the edge of the sound 
seemed to them sufficient room for 
future traffic. But Seattle grew and 
continued to grow, and spread itself 
over the nearby hills. And still the 
growth went on, and in time men re- 
alized that if great business inter- 
ests were to be attracted there, the 
business streets must be easy of ac- 
cess. So they set to work to wash 
the hills down into Puget Sound, 
some of them three hundred feet high 
— thus providing for graded streets 
and the solid front of business blocks. 
It mattered not if buildings stood on 
those hills — they were torn down, or 
moved away, and in some instances 
left high in the air — on stilts, as it 
were. The owners could bring suit 
against the city for damages, as many 
of them did, with varying results. 
So to-day Seattle, though still wrest- 
ling with the problem of suitable 
grades in the business district, has 
busy streets which are accessible, and 
many fine stores. 

I wonder what our Sabbath-observ- 
ing people back home would think if 
they were to come out here and note 
the way the day is spent by a large 



30 

percentage of the people. There is, 
of course, a considerable church go- 
ing population, and one of the larg- 
est churches in the country, said to 
have a membership of five thousand, 
is in Seattle. But Sunday is largely 
held to be a holiday, and therefore 
devoted to amusement and recrea- 
tion. The Seattle Board of Public 
Parks has laid out one of the city 
parks into sixteen tennis courts and 
four baseball diamonds. Tourna- 
ments and games may be played here 
on Sunday by arrangement with the 
Board, but each team may play only 
in the forenoon or in the afternoon, 
as it elects, thus giving various teams 
an opportunity to play sometime dur- 
ing the day. The point I wish to 
bring out is that these Sunday games 
have the official indorsement of the 
city government. 

And as for fishing, they laugh at 
me here when I tell them it's against 
the law in Pennsylvania to fish on 
Sunday, and they ask, "Won't the 
fish in Pennsylvania streams bite on 
Sunday?" And I reply, "How should 
I know?" 

The other morning going down 
street with a lawyer friend, I stopped 
at the courthouse to witness the ma- 
chinery of law operating under the 
provisions of equal suffrage, which 
prevails in the state of Washington. 
We entered three or four court rooms. 
In the first a case had just been call- 
ed, and the jury box was filled— six 
men and six women. One of the lat- 
ter was the wife of the city superin- 
tendent of schools, the others were 
evidently women of the same class. 
In the second courtroom a panel of 
jurors, mostly women, awaited its 
turn. Their general appearance was 
not so prepossessing as that of the 
first jurywomen I saw. Court was 
not in session here, and the male at- 



31 

tendants were smoking. Cuspidors 
were plenty. 

We came into the third court just 
in time to see a jury, composed of 
seven women and five men, admitted 
by a side door. They filed into the 
jury box, and after a moment's pause, 
the judge said, "Ladies and gentle- 
men, have you reached a verdict?" 
Then a bright-eyed, alert young wo- 
man rose, and handed the bailiff a 
paper, which he opened and read, 
"We find the defendant guilty as 
charged in the indictment. Signed, 
Etta Jones, forewoman." The pris- 
oner, rather a good looking young 
fellow, arrested for pocketpicking, 
sat within the bar. The judge dis- 
charged the jury, directing the mem- 
bers to take seats in the courtroom. 
They passed close to where I stood, 
and I thought they looked sleepy. 
Then I learned that they had been 
out all night. Not literally, though 
— they had failed to agree up to a 
late hour, then the women were tak- 
en by a woman bailiff to quarters pro- 
vided by the county officials for that 
purpose, and the men conducted by 
a male bailiff to similar lodgings. 
After breakfast the jurors were 
brought back to the jury room, their 
deliberations were renewed, and a 
verdict was soon reached. The fe- 
male jurors were mostly of apparent 
middle age — one was elderly and 
white-haired. 

The qualification of a woman for 
jury service is that she must own 
propetry or be the wife of a property 
owner. In this connection it may be 
interesting to know that when wo- 
men register before voting at the 
polls they are not required to state 
their age — they need only to affirm 
that they are "of legal age." 

And now another experiment in 
legislation. At the recent session of 
the legislature a law was enacted 



32 

known as the "Lazy Husbands' Act." 
Under its provisions any man who re- 
fuses to worl? and support his family 
shall, upon complaint of his wife, be 
arrested and put to work upon public 
improvements, his wages of a dollar 
and a half a day to be paid to her. 
Already outside inquiries have been 
received in the state from women 
whose husbands are afflicted with a 
constitutional indisposition to exer- 
tion. 

When I began this letter I didn't 
have any definite outline in mind as 
to its construction. So I have simply 
rambled on, weaving into my narra- 
tive incidents and scenes such as may 
be heard and witnessed by any trav- 
eler who has his ears open and his 
eyes unshut. LLOYD SMITH. 



TRAVELING IN THE GREAT WEST 



Mr. Lloyd Smith Among the Mormons 
at Salt Lake City. 

Salt Lake City, June 17. — Since 
writing my last preceding letter my 
traveling has been in a region I had 
not visited before. Leaving Portland 
and her beautiful roses, the train ran 
for many miles alongside the Colum- 
bia river, now swollen to flood stage 
by the recent rains and the melting 
snows in the mountains. Until well 
towards nightfall the outlook is lim- 
ited, the river flowing through a gorge 
with sloping sides leading up to the 
fertile lands which form so large a 
part of Oregon's wealth. Here and 
there, however, one catches glimpses 
of pillared rocks and sheer palisades. 
The Dalles is passed, then the bust- 
ling little city of Hood River, taking 
its name from the stream whose wa- 
ters flow through a valley famous for 
its apples, then pour themselves into 
the Columbia. Throughout the aft- 
ernoon our course was steadily up- 
ward, and in the gloaming we looked 
out upon a rolling country dotted 
with homes and rich in prosperous 
farms. 

Baker City is a thriving young 
town in eastern Oregon showing 
abundant evidences of success in the 
various branches of industry carried 
on within its limits or in the sur- 
rounding territory. Among its 
sources of revenue are some produc- 
tive gold mines not far away. 
Through the courtesy of the local 
manager I was permitted to see and 
to handle a good many thousands of 
dollars' worth of the yellow metal in 
its natural state — nuggets from the 
size of a pea to that of a walnut, 
chunks of quartz in which the glit- 
tering particles shone like noonday, 
and flakes of pure honeycomb gold 



34 

dug from placers or pockets. Hand- 
ful after handful of the shining stuff 
I lifted and let fall again into the 
trays. But none of it stuck fast — 
it all slipped through my fingers. 

The next day brought me into Ida- 
ho, and in the early evening the 
train deposited its human freight in 
Boise, the capital city. Somehow I 
had gained the impression that here 
might be found something of the west 
that is "wild and wooly." But my 
dream, like many another, was doom- 
ed to destruction. Boise is an up to 
date city with well kept and well 
lighted streets, modern business 
houses, handsome residences, and a 
first class hotel boasting a roof gard- 
en and a cabaret show. The state 
capitol, recently completed, is one of 
the finest public buildings in the 
whole country. 

The valley in which Boise lies is 
rich in resources, of which a soil of 
surpassing fertility is perhaps the 
chief. Like much of the western 
land, however, it must have more wa- 
ter than falls from the clouds, so the 
streams that tumble down from the 
mountains are harnessed and led into 
the waiting ditches. One large dam 
now under construction will have a 
surface thirty-five miles in length, 
and will supply sufficient irrigation 
for the 250,000 acres ready to yield 
their bounties when their thrist is 
quenched. 

Salt Lake City probably is the least 
known among travelers of all the 
western cities, the prevailing custom 
being to come out by the southern 
route and return by the northern, or 
the other way about. This in some 
respects is unfortunate, since here the 
seeker after the things that are 
unique and unusual will find them. 
Utah was originally a desert, and 
much of it is still a barren wilder- 
ness. But it possesses the resources 



35 

which make men rich and a state 
powerful. Its mineral wealth is be- 
yond calculation — the output of gold, 
silver, lead and copper is fully forty 
millions of dollars annually. And 
notwithstanding that not more than 
four per cent, of the total area of the 
state is under cultivation, agricul- 
ture is the leading industry; dry 
farming and the steady increase in 
irrigating are transforming the des- 
ert into a land of plenty. But en- 
ough of statistics, which are usually 
more or less tiresome. 

I never could swim a stroke — Kel- 
sey creek and other streams accessible 
in my boyhood days were not conduc- 
ive to this recreation — and I never 
found any water I couldn't sink in 
without the slightest difficulty. I 
went out to Great Salt Lake the oth- 
er day, donned a bathing suit, and 
waded (rather haltingly) into the 
water. I not only could swim, but I 
also — after considerable practice and 
some coaching — floated on the sur- 
face like a cork. And so the tales I 
had doubtingly heard of this remark- 
able inland sea had come true. Of 
course it isn't impossible to stand up- 
right — the depth is about four feet at 
the bathing beach — but if you are 
floating and decide to resume a stand- 
ing posture, you will do some lively 
floundering before your feet strike 
solid ground. While that perfor- 
mance is going on a mouthful or two 
of water will without doubt be ac- 
quired, and after that there will be 
no inclination to question the state- 
ment that the water is twenty-six per 
cent, salt, — that is, four barrels of 
water will yield one barrel of salt. 
The water is sluiced into the nearby 
flats, and evaporation does the rest. 
Then the residue is gathered up and 
taken to the refineries. The annual 
output of salt so produced is 40,000 
tons. 



In the minds of the majority of 
eastern people Utah suggests Mor- 
monism, and therefore, whether just- 
ly or not, it does not hold as high a 
rank as other states. I confess to 
have been one of those who believe 
that the Mormon church wields a 
baleful influence wherever it has 
gained a foothold, that Mormons re- 
gard church authority as supreme in 
all things, temporal as well as spirit- 
ual, and that when the statutes of law 
conflict with the practices of the 
church, the faithful will conform to 
the latter unless compelled by force 
to obey the former. Let us trace 
briefly the growth of Mormonism, and 
glance at the methods of the hier- 
archy which controls the destiny of 
thousands of people living in Utah 
and elsewhere. 

Mormonism had its beginning in 
the little town of Palmyra, N. Y., 
where in September, 1823, Joseph 
Smith claimed to have had a visita- 
tion from an angel of God, who re- 
vealed to him that a new dispensa- 
tion had been ordained, and that he 
had been chosen of God as an instru- 
ment to bring about some of His pur- 
poses. He was told that certain rec- 
ords of the ancient prophets had 
been hidden for many years some- 
where on this continent, and that 
they would be delivered into his 
hands in due time. They were so 
committed in 1827, and were "en- 
graven on plates which had the ap- 
pearance of gold." Their transla- 
tion became the Book of Mormon, 
this being the name of the prophet 
who inscribed the records. Moroni, 
the anpel who appeared to Joseph 
Smith, was the son of Mormon. A 
statue of this visitant now crowns 
the Temple in Salt Lake City. 

Following the alleged delivery of 
the records Joseph Smith organized 
the Church of Latter Day Saints, as 



37 

the Mormons style themselves. Few 
in numbers at first, they gradually 
gained new adherents, and in time at- 
tracted the attention of their neigh- 
bors who declined to take them ser- 
iously. They were driven out of the 
easern states, found refuge in Illinois 
and in Missouri, but always encoun- 
tering opposition, and being compell- 
ed to move on. Finally, in the spring 
of 1847, Brigham Young headed a 
company of his fellow believers, and 
blazed the way for their people 
through a thousand miles of wilder- 
ness, arriving at the present site of 
Salt Lake City in July of that year. 
This spot was then selected as the fu- 
ture home of the Saints, and work 
was begun immediately upon the task 
of reclaiming the desert so that it 
might yield sustenance for the Saints 
and for generations yet unborn. 

Such, in brief, is the story of the 
origin, the hardships and the wan- 
derings of the Mormons, as related by 
their own historians. Certain inci- 
dents, by no means creditable to 
them, are omitted from their narra- 
tive, but these have not ben forgot- 
ten by those who are conversant with 
all the facts in this stirring chapter 
of the nation's history. It cannot be 
denied, however, that the followers 
of this strange faith had the courage 
of their convictions. They believed 
that a place would be found where 
they could practice the articles of 
that faith without molestation, and 
that there they would be permitted to 
build homes and earn a living for 
themselves and their children. That 
belief has been justified, they hold, 
and it is with no small pride that 
they point to their temples of wor- 
ship and to the city and the state in 
whose growth and development they 
have played so large a part. 

The population of Utah is not al- 
together Mormon — about sixty-five 



per cent, of it, I am told. Here in 
Salt Lake City many of the leading 
men of business and the professions 
are Gentiles, as they are called to dis- 
tinguish them from the Saints. There 
is doubtless some class prejudice, but 
it does not show on the surface, since 
the ordinary pursuits of life go on in- 
terchangeably as in other commun- 
ities. 

An entire city square is devoted to 
the Mormon church and its various 
ceremonies. This is known as Tem- 
ple Square, and is surrounded by a 
high concrete wall. The gates are 
open through the day, and visitors 
are not only welcome, but will be 
provided with guides. On Sunday 
afternoon public services are held in 
the Tabernacle, and a free organ re- 
cital is rendered there at noon every 
week day. 

The Tabernacle is unique. It is a 
big auditorium, elliptic in shape, and 
seats 8,000 people. No metals were 
used in its construction, even wooden 
pegs taking the place of nails. At 
the end farthest from the entrance 
stands the grand organ, said to be the 
finest instrument in America. The 
choir has an enrolled membership of 
five hundred singers. The Temple 
close at hand is a massive granite 
building surmounted by six cathed- 
ral spires. Visitors are never ad- 
mitted, this being the Mormon "holy 
of holies" where the sacred rites of 
the church are performed. Nearby 
stand the bronze statues of Joseph 
Smith and his brother, Hyrum, who 
are regarded as martyrs. 

There are two orders of priesthood 
in the Mormon church — the Aaronic, 
which is devoted to temporal matters, 
and the Melchisedek, which has to 
do with spiritual things. Each or- 
der has its ecclesiastical officers — 
bishops, high priests, patriarchs, 
teachers and so on. It is the busi- 



ness of the bishops, who belong to 
the Aaronic order, to attend to the 
collection of tithes, the distribution 
of charities to the poor, and what- 
ever relates to the temporal welfare 
of the church or its people. It is in- 
teresting to know that if a Mormon 
has a grievance against a brother 
Mormon, he must exhaust the efforts 
of the various officials of the church 
to adjust the merits of the case, be- 
fore he may go to law. He must first 
go to the teacher, or local minister, 
and so on up the line to the First 
President, if necessary. The penalty 
for disobeying this rule is excommun- 
ication from the church. 

It was polygamy, of course, and 
not the promulgation of new and 
strange doctrines, which made Mor- 
monism a stench in the nostrils of 
the nation, and led to the enactment 
of laws forbiding plural marriages. 
Joseph Smith left various and sundry 
widows. Brigham Young married 
these, and then some. Across the 
street from the "Bee Hive," which 
was his own house, stands "Amelia 
Palace," built for his favorite wife. 
Polygam.y was practiced openly in 
Utah for more than thirty years, even 
after it had been forbidden by na- 
tional statute. Finally, however, the 
laws were so rigorously enforced 
that plural marriages were discon- 
tiaued by the church. It is believed 
that some of the older members still 
practice polygamy clandestinely, but 
the present generatoin abides by the 
law. 

Still, the Latter Day Saints adhere 
to their argument that the Lord com- 
manded the practice of plural mar- 
riages, and they add that only be- 
cause of the pressure of suffering 
brought upon the people through the 
laws of the United States was the 
President of the church permitted to 
proclaim its discontinuance. This I 



40 

gather from reading a pamphlet en- 
titled "Mormonism," written by B. 
H. Roberts, who it will be remember- 
ed was expelled from the U. S. Con- 
gress some years ago for polygamous 
practices. 

So much for Mormonism. It has 
seemed to me an interesting, al- 
though not attractive, phase of re- 
ligious life, and I have written the 
foregoing in the belief that at least 
some of the Agitator's patrons know 
as little about the subject as I did 
before coming here. This much, In 
my judgment, may in fairness be 
said. Mormonism is not the only re- 
ligion in whose name crimes have 
been committed, and if the evil in 
each is forsaken, and the good exalt- 
ed, then its believers must needs find 
in its teachings those guides which 
lead to right living and the fulfill- 
ment of the purpose for which men 
were placed upon the earth. 

I find in Salt Lake City two Wells- 
boro boys — Ray Petit and Howard 
Webb. They have not yet become 
Mormons, and I have not discovered 
in them any leanings in that direc- 
tion. They both are employed in the 
activities of a big construction com- 
pany which is doing great things in 
the development of Utah's rich re- 
sources, and by a trick which Wells- 
boro boys have, they are both mak- 
ing good. 

And now, dear readers, I am going, 
as the Pennsylvania Dutch say, to 
"give you good by." The only other 
place of unusual interest yet remain- 
ing in my eastbound itinerary is Den- 
ver, and I wrote that up for you on 
a previous trip. I trust you have not 
been wearied by my travel talks, and 
I can wish you nothing better than 
to measure for yourselves the long 
stretches of the Great West, and meet 
its varied charms face to face. 

It has been my fortune to travel 



41 

much in this land of ours. I have 
set my feet upon the soil of nearly 
every one of the states of the Union, 
and there are few cities whose life I 
have not entered into in some degree. 
But of all the states I have crossed I 
like Pennsylvania the best. And of 
all the towns I have known Wells- 
boro is, for me, the best to live in. 
It is a comforting thought that I shall 
soon be among my native hills again, 
and be treading the quiet streets of 
Wellsboro. Even though it has a 
frustrated trolley line, and a public 
library which instead of "Green" 
should have been named "Faith" — 
"the substance of things hoped for, 
the evidence of things not seen" — 
Wellsboro holds first place in my 
humble esteem. 

Some years ago we had at the 
Teachers' Institute a musical director 
who had the habit of turning his 
thumbs down to indicatie the empha- 
sis or "accent" necessary for the 
most important words. A favorite 
song of his, and one which he asked 
the teachers to sing again and again, 
was "Home Is Where the Heart Is" 
(thumbs down on "heart"). My 
thumbs are down. 

LLOYD SMITH. 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 

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